And Death Shall Have No Dominion
by theroguesgambit
Summary: Following CoE, Jack takes to the stars in order to escape his pain, and finds his future hollow. Finally, a chance encounter with the Doctor reminds Jack that miracles are possible, and sets him on a path to reunite with his lost love. Janto
1. Prologue

**A/N:** One of this story's central characters is the Doctor, and as such it will have a lot of _Doctor Who_ references. For those who don't follow that show, I will try to explain any references in a note at the bottom of each chapter, but of course if you still have any questions, feel free to ask in a review and I'll clear it up for you. Also, the story's title is taken from a brilliant poem by Dylan Thomas.

**Summary**: Following the events of _Children of Earth_, Jack takes to the stars in order to escape his pain, and finds his future hollow. Finally, a chance encounter with the Doctor reminds Jack that miracles are possible, and sets him on a path to reunite with his lost love.

**Pairings**: Cannon pairings. Jack/Ianto, mentions of Doctor/Rose.

**And Death Shall Have No Dominion**

Prologue

He couldn't say how long he wandered. When you're basically immortal, time starts to lose meaning, and when you're drifting between planets and galaxies, days and weeks don't so much blend together as cease existing altogether.

He tried for a while to drown his memories out with alcohol, with half a dozen simultaneous pleasures, even with honest hard work. But every time he began to let go of his pain, to really enjoy himself, to actually care about someone else…

"_Don't forget me."_

Those three words would hit him, harder than any simple "I love you" could ever do. Those three words, a desperate request, so seemingly simple, but so impossible to fulfill.

_"In a thousand years' time you won't even remember me."_

Jack couldn't believe that. What kind of a person would that make him, if he did? If he actually thought himself capable of forgetting Ianto, or Toshiko, or Owen, or even Suzie? Or Steven, whose death clawed at him like a sickness every time he so much as saw a child's face. He _couldn't_ believe those words… but deep in his heart he knew that he did.

Already, there were things that were starting to slip away. Little things, like the sound of Ianto's moan when Jack kissed behind his ear. What the name of his favorite television program had been. The exact shade of his shirt on the night of their first official "dinner and a movie" date. In his dreams he remembered everything, with details so painfully clear that he had awoken in the arms of one or more lovers with tears in his eyes and Ianto's name on his lips. But then the day had come, and the dreams began to fade. How long would it be before he forgot Ianto's voice? His sardonic smirk? His touch?

He hated to think about those things, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't.

It could have been decades that he wandered, or it could have been mere days, but eventually his path led him back to the Doctor. It seemed that his path always did.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Sorry for the shortness of the prologue but, then again, it is just a prologue. Future chapters will be much longer. Please review!


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks so much for all the feedback! Reviews really are my inspiration to keep on writing… or to keep on posting, anyway… so it's always great to hear what you have to say. Bonus points to That Dragon Kid for knowing the poem and quoting one of the lines that inspired me to choose it as the story's title.

Notes on _Doctor Who_ references at the bottom of the chapter.

**And Death Shall Have No Dominion**

_Chapter 1_

He was working on a leisure cruiser at the time – hard labor in the engine rooms during the day, mindless flirting and generally charming the clientele at night. There was a time in Jack's life when he would have thought this an ideal job. A little lacking in adventure, maybe, but hey, excitement was what you made out of life, and the visitors on the ship came in enough shapes and sizes to keep the old Jack Harkness occupied for years.

Now, he found the entire experience empty. Little more than an excuse to keep moving, to keep his hands busy, to do something besides lie in his bed, staring at the blank ceiling until eternity crept up to swallow him.

He had been there for some time: long enough to start recognizing returning customers, long enough to start unconsciously picking out favorites and filing them away in the back of his mind. Long enough to start suspecting that it was time to move on. And then, on a perfectly ordinary night, _he_ had appeared.

Jack had been sitting at a bar, sipping an old-fashioned gin-and-tonic and enjoying a little too much a conversation with a dark-haired, sharp-witted beauty that had reminded him a bit of Gwen Cooper, when he had caught a flash of it across the room. A thin form, a brown and blue pinstriped suit, and a sweeping tan duster appearing for just an instant through a break in the mingling crowd.

He didn't stop to think. For a few seconds he didn't even know if he _could_. All he knew was that for the first time in what felt like millennia, he experienced an emotion that wasn't carnal lust or self-loathing guilt. That coat and that pinstriped suit, the tall brown hair and that flash of a cheeky grin.

His glass slipped from his fingers, and before it had touched the ground he was already on his feet and running, leaving his baffled companion staring in his wake.

_He _was here. The one person in Jack's thousands of years that had always had the answers, who had never failed him and, no matter how many times he disappeared from Jack's life, had always seemed to come back.

As he moved recklessly through the large hall, into the ever-denser crowd of clients, he felt something collide with his hip and topple. It was so small and light that he'd thought it at first to be one of the low-backed chairs scattered around various tables across the room. An absent glance over his shoulder revealed, instead, a child.

His feet slowed to a stop so quickly that he almost fell over. _A child. _What was a child doing on the deck at night? As Jack watched, a middle-aged woman in a plum dress hurried to the boy, shooting Jack quick, disapproving looks as she helped him up and tenderly straightened the waist of his suit jacket. Even neatened up, it looked a bit messy, more like an old hand-me-down than the fitted outfits most customers wore.

Had the family won a lottery or something to be here? And now, wishing to share a luxury they would probably never experience again with their son, they had allowed him to stay up past his usual bedtime, taking in the splendor of the great hall, enjoying the view of the nebula cluster the cruiser was drifting past…

Until Jack had showed up and shattered their evening. The boy's eyes were welling up. His mother's eyes, harsh and accusing, on Jack.

_"Dad, what is he talking about?"_

_"Dad, no!"_

_"Steven!"_

His throat tightened, and he stumbled backward a step.

"S-sorry…"

The Doctor. Where had the Doctor gone?

He turned, caught another flash of tan coat, and…

"_Everything Torchwood did, and you're part of it."_

_"I did it for you, in your honor."(1)_

All the secrets, all the betrayals… and all of the death, in the Doctor's honor. The 456 given 12 children as offerings, in the Doctor's honor. A little boy, Jack's own grandson, burned up from the inside to be used as a weapon, in the Doctor's honor. Yes, it had been to save the world, and no, even in hindsight he couldn't think of think of another way out of it, but that didn't make it justifiable. There _should _have been another way. _He_ would have found another way.

How would the Doctor look at him now? What level of shame would burn within him for being associated with someone who could rationalize using children as pawns in wars of men and monsters?

Or were monsters and men really any different at all?

Jack stepped backward, and turned slowly again, moving carefully past the boy, whose sniffles were dying away with the sound of his mother's comforts, and made his way back to the bar. The Gwen-clone was gone, probably having left in a huff after having been so rudely abandoned by her companion.

He leaned heavily against the counter and signaled the bar tender, who sidled over, flashing Jack a charming green grin.

"Well well, Jack, what can I do you for?"

"Two hypervodkas, Manny. High as you can fill them."

The skin around the barman's eyes shifted in a way that would equate to a raising of an eyebrow.

"Strong stuff to be having on duty, Jack. We can't have you getting too intoxicated and giving the company a bad name."

Jack leaned in a little and let his eyes drift across the barman's face, a smile he didn't feel appearing naturally on his lips.

"Come on. When have you ever found me to be anything less than completely charming?"

Just that, and the memory of a few stolen moments on top of that very bar late at night after crowds had cleared, and the barman's inhibitions faded. He let out a gravely laugh as he reached under the counter and pulled out two glasses.

"Well, I would never dream of getting in the way of the great Jack Harkness in action. Who's the other drink for, out of curiosity? Some dashing trillionnaire who'll be sure to leave us with a fabulous tip at the end of the cruise?"

Jack's smile stayed fixed as Manny pulled out the bottle. Of course, both drinks would be for himself, and he would have taken half a dozen more if he'd been able to carry them.

Eight shots sounded really good right then. The most anyone had ever taken without ending up with severe alcohol poisoning was six, but that didn't matter much to him, the same way he was immune to bombs, poison or plague… a virus that had murdered in mere minutes the man that he'd…

"Actually, Manny, would you mind doing me a favor? I've got a private party to entertain – very high end and very big players, if you know what I mean – and I'm thinking it's about time we move things back to my quarters. Do you think you could part with one full bottle?"

.-.-

The fourth mouthful slid through his throat like liquid fire, and a slight shake of his head left the entire ship rocking around him.

"Whoa… little turbulence there, folks," he announced to the empty hall, pushing away from the wall that seemed to keep shifting over to meet him. He took another few steps, frowning down at the way the toes of his shoes kept scraping along the carpet every time he moved. Toes didn't belong on the ground, that was the… bottom part. Feet had to lift. No, higher than that. Higher… that was it. That's the way to do it.

Another swig. He hissed in the aftermath, as it burned down.

…But fire couldn't be liquid though, could it? Hundreds of planets, dozens of time periods, and he didn't think he could ever remember encountering liquid fire. Something to do with the definitions, probably. Liquid was… wet, and wet things put out fires. Except for alcohol, though. Alcohol made fires bigger.

Maybe then… was alcohol not a liquid?

He scowled down at the bottle, as though to demand some sort of explanation for its deception… and the wall rushed forward to meet him again. He leaned hard against it, smirking.

"Well, well. Persistent, aren't we, miss? Can't say I've been hit on by a leisure cruiser before. A _pleasure_ cruiser, yes, but that's a different thing altogether." He laughed, a quick and effortless burst of positive emotion, before another mouthful of probably-not-liquid hit him like a long-unused conscience. The laughter faded, and he patted the velvety wall thoughtfully, before adding, "And it's not like I'm not tempted, really, but you, my friend, are looking right now at a one-man man."

Give him a few hours and he'd change his tune, most likely, but for now the words were strangely less stifling to speak than he'd expected. Almost… nice, even.

A smile flickered across his lips as he braced his forearms against the wall and leaned his forehead into them. His fingers played absently against the smooth wallpaper as his mind wandered.

"I'm part of a _couple._" He'd never had trouble with that word, though. That word could mean so many different things. He rubbed his tongue along the back of his teeth and tried a more difficult one.

"_Exclusive_."

The word escaped clumsily, because of vodka or disuse. Still, the strange tickle down his spine wasn't an unpleasant one, either. He never would have imagined it, but it was almost… exciting.

"Exclusive," he breathed again, and this time it came out as smooth and velvety as the wall it vibrated against. Ianto would have loved to hear that word, just once, in all of their time together. It's not like Jack had been sleeping with anyone else, anyway. He'd just… liked having his options open. Because it had been too much for the immortal man to promise a single human lifetime to the one he loved.

But right now he would have given away every moment of his everlasting eternity for a few seconds of being exclusive with Ianto.

Another example of the human's flawed nature – to never appreciate what you had until it was torn away.

"Well, well. Nine hundred years' travel through space and time and I finally encounter something I never thought I'd see –Jack Harkness turning down anyone… or anything."

Even in his current state, Jack recognized the voice immediately. He spun to face the speaker… but even as he stopped moving, the room kept right on spinning. Brown coat, tan hair… no wait, reverse that. Tan cair and brown hoat. …Bran toat? Well, either way, despite the swimming of the walls and his thoughts, one thing was perfectly clear.

"Doctor!" He held out his right hand, and frowned when he found it empty. "I'd offer you a drink, but I seem to have misplaced it." He scowled as he spoke. If he could make sentences that coherent, he clearly wasn't nearly drunk enough. But now that he seemed to have misplaced the bottle…

The Doctor, a bemused expression on his face, indicated towards Jack's left hand. The Captain looked down, and discovered his fingers wrapped loosely around the bottle's lip.

"Oh." He blinked at it a few times before, with a mental shrug, he lifted the drink back to his lips again.

"Actually, why don't you let me see that, Jack?"

He squinted over the bottle, and took another quick gulp. But the Doctor's voice, as always, carried an unquestionable authority, and even as Jack savored that familiar burn, he held out the bottle for the Doctor to take.

"Thanks. I'll just be holding onto this for a while now, shall I?"

Was the ship's gravity off? Why couldn't Jack seem to push himself of the wall? The Doctor seemed perfectly balanced before him, of course, but Jack doubted that something as simple as an artificial gravity malfunction would bother him.

"How'd you find me back here anyway, Doc? Don't tell me you were just wandering the hallways and fate brought us together."

"What, and you wouldn't believe that?" The Doctor grinned – that bright, infectious grin that couldn't help endearing all but the most hard-hearted creatures of the universe to him. Jack mustered a wan smile.

The Doctor's grin faded, his hands sliding into those deep coat pockets, the vodka disappearing along with them. It was no small bottle, either. Were those pockets bigger on the inside, too?

"Actually, Jack, I couldn't very well have managed to miss you."

"That irresistible, am I?"

The Doctor's brows furrowed.

"That's a question, not a statement?"

For a moment he seemed prepared to continue this line of questioning, but instead he faded to black, and brought the rest of the hallway with him. When it reappeared, Jack found himself much lower - or maybe the ground had moved up? – and the Doctor was crouching in front of him. His sonic screwdriver was in one hand, beaming an infuriatingly bright light in Jack's face.

He opened his mouth to deliver some line or another about the Doctor sure getting him on his back fast, but all that escaped was a dizzy groan.

"There we are. Now, Jack – Jack, focus. I'm over here. Hello! – Now think. How many drinks did you have?"

It took Jack a moment to come back to himself enough to feel it, and when he did he immediately wished he hadn't. Sharp pains, twisting and slicing at his gut, like a wet shirt being wrung out so hard that it tore.

A grimace turned into a laugh as he squinted through the blue beam.

"What, your fancy _sonic_ screwdriver can't…" Another twist and he lost his breath. He drew a fresh one in and continued, "can't tell you something as simple as a BAC?"

The light blessedly blinked out, and the Doctor's face swam into focus.

"Of course it can – basic biology scan." A smile flickered over Jack's lips – the Doctor had made a rhyme. But he didn't comment on it, because the Doctor was looking too unhappy to appreciate his own little joke.

"And it's high, Jack, far too high. I'm trying to keep you focused and talking, so let's start by asking whether you realize quite how stupid you've been tonight."

All of his breaths were coming in heavily, suddenly. Sweat beaded down his forehead and caught on his brow. He grinned up at the Doctor, but was afraid it came out only as a bright-toothed grimace.

"Not like it… matters, right?" The world went foggy again. "No little alcohol overdose gonna knock me off. You made sure of that, you and her."(2)

"You didn't consume enough to die, Jack. At least, not quickly. And, in your case, anyway, that could be a real problem."

Something stabbed him, suddenly. A dagger… or a jagged lead pipe tearing clear through his gut. He choked down a cry, his body curling in on itself. Eyes blurred and squeezed shut. A fat raindrop ran down his cheek.

Wait… rain?

There was another, landing right below his eye before sliding down. A strained whimper sounded somewhere nearby, loud enough to leave the room wobbling sickly past Jack's closed eyelids.

"Jack, stay focused now."

The Doctor sounded worried. Jack hated being the cause of that sound. He struggled to get his eyes open again, but the world swayed so violently around him that he had to swallow down a wave of nausea that clawed up his throat. His lids closed, surrounding him again in blessed blackness, and he wondered once more at the drops of hot rain that seemed to be falling only across his cheeks.

"This is no good… Jack, are we near your quarters?"

Some part of Jack, past the stabbing and the spinning, managed to recognize the distant words as a question, but all that came out in response was an indistinct "Hmm…"

"_Jack._"

But the darkness was filling up his ears now, clogging them until the Doctor's urgent voice was as tinny and distant as if it were coming through a receiver being held across the room. Jack sighed and told him that he was fine, that they could talk later, but right now he had this huge, encompassing shadow taking up all of his attention. At least, that's what he tried to say, but he had a feeling that the shadow was keeping him from getting those words out, too.

Oh well. That didn't matter much. The Doctor was smart; he would figure it out. And Jack was rather enjoying the darkness, overall. Everything had stopped hurting now. In fact, he couldn't quite remember what _had_ been hurting in the first place.

The world seemed better here. Maybe he could stay.

**TBC**

**Notes:**

1: Jack is remembering a conversation with a Doctor from the season 3 episode: _The Sound of Drums_. During this episode, he finally revealed to the Doctor that he was now a member of Torchwood, an organization that the Doctor strongly detests due to Torchwood One's belief that 'anything alien was theirs,' and for their role in causing the Cyberman invasion referenced in Torchwood's _Cyberwoman._

2: "…you and her…" This will be expanded on next chapter, but Jack was referring to Rose Tyler, the Doctor's first companion in the new series, and the one who granted Jack his immortality. After Jack died during a battle with a race called the Daleks, Rose absorbed the Time Vortex and brought him back to life, but she couldn't completely control the power and accidentally brought him back forever.


	3. Chapter 2

**And Death Shall Have No Dominion**

_Chapter 2_

_Fingers caressed his forehead, brushing away stray hairs and gently massaging the hot flesh. He was rocking slightly, side to side, in the arms of an angel that gave off the faintest scent of coffee like an aftershave._

"_Come on, Jack. Come back to me…"_

It hurt…

_A rough voice with a London burr broke the rhythm of the caresses._

"_Oh don't be an idiot, Ianto. He's all warm and rosy cheeked. There's no way he's making it to this side."_

"_I believe in him. He can do it."_

_A third voice. Softer, female._

"_You have to accept that he's gone. He's never going to be able to come here. Move on, like we have. You have to let him go."_

_But he _was_ there. He could hear them. He could feel _him_. Why couldn't he move?_

_Ianto…_

_A shaking breath whispered across his face. Fingers trailed down his cheek. A voice murmured from so close that a tilt of the head could have met them._

"_I'll never give up on you, Jack."_

_And then they did meet his. Tenderly, so softly that he could feel them tremble with the effort of restraining a sob. The simple touch – or was it the emotion behind it? – set Jack on fire with a desperation to respond. It had been so long, too long, since he had felt any caress that did what this kiss did to him. That made not only his body ache, but his heart. He could have spent an eternity in the sweet torment of this kiss… but after only a few frantic heartbeats, it was gone. Along with it, the fingers, the arms, and the scent of coffee._

_All that was left was a flash, and a receding white light…_

"_Don't give up on me."_

.-.

The only thing more painful than this had been waking up from the bomb.

He came to his senses, groaning, and the sound made his ears ring. Everything ached, his head literally throbbing so much that if he'd dared to open his eyes, he would have probably seen the room bobbing up and down with every rapid beat. His stomach was a knot, throat burning and mouth tasting of bile.

God, what had killed him this time and why had he been brought back still feeling this _awful_?

"Ianto…"

He reached one hand out blindly, finding nothing but chilled tile stretched out in front of him. A floor? But wait… there was definitely something soft and pillow-like under his head, ad his body was warm and cushioned as well. Where _was _he?

"Yan," he called out again weakly and, receiving no response, finally risked squinting his eyes open.

The room was blessedly dim around him, with just a slight glow coming from somewhere near his feet. Relieved, he opened his eyes wider and peered about at his surroundings. A floor of white tile, a half-open door leading to a dark, carpeted room and, beside it, a sink.

A bathroom?

He tilted his head down to find the source of the light, and his stomach rolled so violently that he barely managed to sit up and get his head over the toilet before he was coughing up dry heaves and stomach acid into the bowl. The heaving lasted a full minute after anything had stopped coming up, and finally he managed to resist the objections of his stomach long enough to crumple downward and rest his forehead against the cool tile. The relief was immediate, though not complete, and as the world slowed its rocking to a comfortable wobble, his stomach began to unknot as well.

"Well then. Actually conscious, this time, are we?"

That voice… it hit Jack with a wealth of memories he would rather have left forgotten. He winced and turned his head to let his cheek cool against the floor as well. Had he really just been calling out for Ianto a minute ago?

After several seconds he risked turning his head toward the source of the voice and found the Doctor sitting, fully dressed, in an empty bathtub. He was sprawled out comfortably, feet crossed at the ankles and resting on the tub's lip, and holding a novelpad in one hand – the source of the dim glow. He smiled as Jack's eyes met his, and he raised his free hand, moving his fingers in a friendly wiggle.

"Hello again."

Jack opened his mouth, coughed, swallowed, and rasped out, "I didn't die, did I?"

The Doctor balanced the pad on the tub's edge, so that it lit the ceiling and illuminated his face.

"No. You seem to have become far too dependent on dying, Jack. I think it's best if we deal with this the mortal way."

Jack's gaze drifted to his makeshift bed of a comforter, sheet, and pillow in the middle of the bathroom floor.

"Would've been easier on both of us if I'd died."

"Not at all. This gives me a chance to catch up on my 21st century Brajoolian literature. Mind you, it's also reminding me why I made a point to avoid it in the first place. They're a lot more about sounds than concepts right now – long lines of vowels that they think sound nice together, for the most part. And while I'm all for beautiful phrases, flowing poetry and the like, there really does have to be some thought involved in the process or I just find myself dozing."

Jack was only half-listening by that point, turning his head slowly so that he could cool his other cheek and squint at the shadowed room beyond the door.

"Where are we? Not my quarters." The set up was completely different in rooms offered to different species, in order to ensure maximum comfort, and from what he could make out of a pair of long, narrow beds in the main room, they appeared to be in one of the less extravagant suites for guests from Brajool.

"No. You didn't get a chance to tell me where you were staying, if you recall. Would've taken you back to the TARDIS but frankly that was a long ways off, and I would have had to carry you back through the ballroom anyway, to… I believe I was parked in a broom closet. This room was nearby and the door mechanism said it was unoccupied, so I figured it would be best to just pop in here for a bit."

Jack started to laugh, but that hurt too much and he stopped again quickly.

"You mean _break_ in."

"Well…" The Doctor leaned his head back against the wall and cast a wry smile toward the ceiling. "That's not exactly the word I'd use. I plan to pay for the night before I leave – well…" He cut himself off and tilted his head lazily toward Jack. "Have you pay for it, actually. Haven't got any modern currency on me. There's almost never a need for it, and keeping track of the right kind to bring wherever I'm going is generally just too much effort to bother with, so-"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" He hadn't meant to cut in like that, but he'd been wondering about it since he'd woken up. Whatever kind of reception he'd expected from the Doctor the next time they met, this had certainly not been it.

For the first time since Jack had woken up, he saw the Doctor's good humor fade.

"Why wouldn't I be? Granted, I've been known to be a touch dismissive, somewhat 'cheeky,' I believe it's been said, but very rarely mean. Not to people who aren't trying to kill me or my friends. Well – friends, acquaintances, people I pass on the street, people I've never met but seem to be on the wrong side of a conflict… And last I checked, Jack, you weren't guilty of any of those things."

A slow, deep breath steadied his stomach, and he slowly lifted his head so that he could face the Doctor right side up.

"You really mean that, don't you?" The Doctor continued to watch him steadily, a faintly puzzled expression on his face. "What, have you been completely out of touch with the intergalactic news for months? Haven't checked in on Earth for a while? Or…" He grimaced. "Am I talking to a Doctor from the wrong time period?" A quick laugh burst from his lips, though it felt more habitual than due to actual humor. "You know, I've forgotten how confusing time travel makes even simple social interactions. This once I met a guy who seemed like a lunatic, tried to kill me the second he spotted me. And he kept on ranting the whole time that it was payback. Nothing I did could convince him he had the wrong guy. Made such a nuisance of himself that I when I ran into him again a few months later I didn't hesitate, just pulled out my gun to stop him before he came at me again. Turns out this was a version of him from before we'd ever met, and I started the whole thing right…"

He realized he was babbling, trailed off with a dry-mouthed swallow, and asked, "Wait, am I still drunk? I though I'd moved on to the hangover stage."

"No, I think you have. You're likely just feeling a little woozy from the pain, exhaustion, dehydration… We'll have to get you something for that last one in a minute."

Even the thought of putting anything in his mouth made his stomach churn again. Jack groaned, and the vibration from the sound left his head spinning as well. He sank back slowly into the comforter, pushing his head back hard against pillow, hoping that the extra pressure might take the edge off his surging migraine.

"Or we could just wait a while, let me dehydrate. Wouldn't make much difference, would it? Killer alien viruses don't keep me down. Been buried alive for two thousand years by my own brother and I'm A-ok. What's a slow death of dehydration compared to that, huh?" He laughed again, and for once the movement felt good, as though the puffs of breath were releasing bitter toxins that had been building up for months inside his chest.

"Where's Rose off to, anyway? Still back at the party? 'Cause, you know, what with the whole Dalek invasion going on last time, I never got a chance to have a word with her about her little problem of oversharing." (1)

The Doctor straightened slowly, his legs lowering off the tub's edge, and his expression was unreadable in the novel-light.

"Meaning what, exactly?" Jack snorted.

"What do you think?_ Immortality_. Her great big 'gift' of reviving me back then, when I could have had a hero's death. Saving the universe. Holding back the horde for those few extra seconds it would take for you to pull off your plan." His eyes drifted shut. "You know, for those few weeks that I traveled with you, Doctor, I really believed that I'd become better. Become… what… noble maybe. Honorable. Thought maybe some of you had rubbed off on me. Now I've had time to learn better. Damn it, Doctor!" A fist raised and slammed hard into the tile, and that impact felt good, too. "Why did you have to save me from the bomb that first day? Why did you let her save me, then? If you'd just left well enough alone…"

"Then someone else would have been found to hand the twelve children over to the 456." Jack's head shot up sharply, and he ignored the violent throbbing as he locked onto the Doctor's steady gaze. "Yes, I know what happened, back in 1965 and in 2009. And I know that because of your actions, Captain Jack Harkness, millions of children – millions of bright, beautiful, _brilliant_ children will live to see 2010."

"And because of me one won't. And you can't tell me that on the cosmic scale it balances out. That it was worth it. That it makes it _ok._"

For one instant, for one sickly satisfying instant, the Doctor seemed at a loss for words. Then, sighing, he replied.

"Of course it doesn't make it ok. But I can hardly condemn you for it, either. I wasn't there. I don't know what kind of options were available…"

"And why weren't you there?" The effort of sitting up became too much, and Jack sank slowly back into the comforter. "Earth needed you. Humanity needed you. _I_ needed you. Why didn't you come to us during our biggest crisis ever?"

There was a sound of quiet movement by his feet as the Doctor stood, stepped out onto the tile, and moved to crouch beside him instead.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I am so, so sorry, but I couldn't. You've been a time traveler; you know how it works. Some points in time are fixed. Are facts. If outside forces intervene during certain crises, it could alter history drastically. Keep the human race from growing, evolving the way it was meant to. This was one of those moments.

"Humans have faced threats from alien races before, on a grand scale, as a species. The Cybermen that everyone thought were ghosts. The Sycorax and their blood control. But _this_ wasn't just a threat from the outside. It was also a war from within. It showed humanity what they're really capable of, both their darkest and purest natures. If I had just swooped in and stopped it all from happening then all of history would have been altered, forward and back. Fifty-first century comes around, one Jack Harkness is never born, and the next thing you know a paradox is created. All of time and space crumbles around us… But Jack, I really am sorry, so sorry, for everything you had to lose during this."

Jack gritted his teeth to spit out a sharp retort, but when his eyes flickered open, he realized that he couldn't. The Doctor's gaze on him was soft and sincere, and the truth was, Jack _did_ understand. He knew the rules of temporal interference, and had since he was a teenager. If the Doctor said that the arrival of the 456, and their offer, had been _meant_ to happen then Jack couldn't doubt it. Still…

"They didn't have to die, though. If you'd been there it would have been solved without sacrifice." Jack shook his head, and the spike in his headache only increased his bitterness. "Because when you're around 'everybody lives,' isn't that right? You come up with some random, brilliant plan that no one else would ever think of in a million years, and suddenly – magically – everybody lives."

"That's not true."

"Of course it is. Oh, some little boy was killed in a bomb explosion during World War II. Well, we can't have that while I, the Doctor, am around, so let's just whip some Chula nanogenes into action and revive…"

He stopped speaking suddenly, his eyes shooting open and fixing on the pale ceiling. Thoughts racing. It couldn't be that simple, could it?

"Chula nanogenes…" (2)

**TBC**

**A/N: **And there we have it. The method of choice for bringing back the lovely Ianto Jones in this story – nanogenes. Check below if you're going "huh?" right now instead of "oooh!" Thanks so much to all of the reviewers for my last chapter, and please let me know what you think of this one. Reviews really do light up my day!

**Notes:**

**1** – Referring to the finale of _Doctor Who_, Series 4, which featured all of the surviving Torchwood cast helping to fight off a Dalek invasion of the Earth. When Jack left at the end of the episodes, the Doctor and Rose were together in the TARDIS, along with the Doctor's most recent companion, Donna.

**2** – In series 1 of_ DW_, the character of Captain Jack Harkness was introduced during a 2-parter called "The Empty Child" and "The Doctor Dances". During this episode, set during WWII, a child killed in a bomb explosion was accidentally brought back to life by alien 'nanogenes' meant to heal battle injuries. These were described as even being able to revive the dead because, as the Doctor says: "What's life? Life's easy. A quirk of matter… nothing to a nanogene." At the end of the episode, the Doctor was able to fix the crisis, while exclaiming "Just this once, everybody lives!" leading to Jack's reference, earlier.


	4. Chapter 3

**And Death Shall Have No Dominion**_  
Chapter Three_

"_No_."

"Doctor…"

"I'm sorry, Jack. No. These events were fixed, like I said. Certain things _had_ to happen."

"But not Ianto. Not Steven."

As they spoke, the Doctor had stood and moved rapidly from the bathroom out to the main suite, and Jack, too caught in his fervor to even notice the frantic warning signals his body was sending him, much less heed them, had leapt up to follow him. Now the Doctor stood by the broad bay window, gazing out into the pale purple gases of the Rizan Nebula, as Jack paced restlessly between the two beds.

"Alright," Jack conceded, "Steven's death acted as a feedback signal on the 456, allowing us to defeat them. He…" Jack gritted his teeth and forced himself finish the thought, "…had to die. But he doesn't have to _stay_ dead."

"Jack, it's not that simple and you know it. In either case. Over a year has passed now since those events. Even if I brought you back in time seven months to the moment you left Earth, so as not to interfere with your own timeline, the level of decay in both of their bodies would make it impossible for the nanogenes to regenerate them. They're clever, but they can't reconstruct a person whose body has been dead for months."

Jack stopped moving and looked over at the Doctor, but with the lack of movement his exhaustion began to catch up with him, and he quickly began pacing again.

"There are ways to work around that. We just have to go back to the day Steven died… no, the day after, and revive them then."

"Which would interfere with your own timeline."

"Not necessarily. Revive them and then hide them. Go off-world with them. Or we could just use the TARDIS and jump forward six months – a year, back to this date, if that makes you feel better – before letting anyone know that they're alive. It would be hard on them, especially Alice, but getting them back after a year is better than not getting them back at all."

The Doctor turned back from the window as Jack spoke, and watched him pace for several moments silently.

"You should lie down," he finally responded, his tone painfully gentle. Jack looked up at him sharply. His face was flushed and beading with sweat, his shaky arms crossed tightly across his chest. He looked nothing like the suave, confident captain that the Doctor had come to recognize; the man who could talk his way into and out of any situation with a witty comment and a broad grin. This was another creature altogether, disheveled and desperate, but his eyes had taken on a hardness and a determination that had never been there before. Jack had always known what he wanted and how to get it, but had managed to look easygoing and lighthearted even in the most dangerous situations. No matter what happened, he had always managed a sly comment and a smile. This last year had changed him more than the Doctor had realized. Too many losses too quickly. Too much expected of him… too much for anybody to handle without coming out a little damaged, a little bent.

But he had not broken. His tone, though tinged with desperation, remained as sharp as his gaze as he scowled at his companion.

"You're not even considering this, are you?"

The nebula called to the Doctor again, and he allowed his attention to drift back to it. Perhaps it was a hint of cowardice that forced him to turn his back to his old friend's hard words… or perhaps it was just that he saw a little too much of his own losses reflected in Jack's eyes.

"I think you're making it sound possible because you want it to be possible." His words came out soft and weary – words that he had used too many times already, when the silence and the emptiness alone on the TARDIS had threatened to creep up and swallow him. "But Jack, if everyone could just bring back their loved ones using nanogenes then no one would ever die."

No one would ever have to be alone.

A flash of red hair, head shaking wildly, eyes pleading. _"Don't make me go back."_ (1)

But the universe didn't work that way. There would always be lonely souls, and now that Jack would be living for at least a few more millennia, he would have to get used to that part of his existence.

Not without a fight, though. Buried beneath exhaustion, the brash captain still lived. He stormed forward, coming up beside the Doctor at the window, hand running agitatedly through his hair, licking his dry lips before breathing, "Not _everyone_. Not every time. But I _can_ make this work, Doctor. I know it. It will be complicated. We'll have to wait until after the last time their bodies are seen so we don't disrupt history. We'll have to avoid being seen by anyone who might know us, and we'll have to keep them hidden from the world for at least half a year after we revive them. I _know_ it will be hard… but since when did you ever back down from a challenge?"

The Doctor's gaze drifted back from the window, his hands sliding into the pockets of his pinstriped trousers, and his eyes, reflecting the glow of the nebula, appeared suddenly infinitely old.

"This isn't a schoolyard, Jack. You can't just double-dog dare me into going along with you. When you have power and knowledge the way we do, you have to be especially careful not to take advantage of it – to twist time just to meet your own ends."

A fist impacted the fused silica window hard enough to pop knuckles. Stifling curses, Jack cradled the hand back against his chest, while the Doctor waited stoically for the Captain's wrath to turn back to him. It didn't take long.

"Oh _please_, Doctor. Don't use that 'with great power comes great responsibility' line with me. What if it had been Rose who had died?"

Well, at last that got a reaction. The Time Lord's lips thinned, his carefully empty look cracking, revealing a shimmer of too-recent heartache within. At another point that look might've given Jack pause, but not now. No, now he was too caught up in the prospect of his own victory to pay attention to much of anything else. For the first time in months he could remember the exact taste of Ianto's lips, could see that sardonic smile as though it were real, and not some faded photograph from another life. He'd had this dream a hundred times since that awful day, of somehow coming up with a way to dive backward, relive that moment, and this time be the Big Damn Hero that saves the day, instead of some ignorant, gun-happy soldier just trying to act like one. He'd done so many things wrong, and this was his one chance to make them right.

But he needed to have the Doctor on his side for this, which meant that for now he would just have to keep pushing.

"What if Rose had been killed by the Daleks or the Slitheen, or any of those other dangers that you dragged her headfirst into? If you'd had to sit there and watch her dying in your arms… Don't tell me that you wouldn't have torn time and space apart to find a way to save her."

The Doctor didn't respond, but he didn't have to. His eyes told Jack enough. The Captain drew in a long breath and let it out again slowly. He was getting through to him. This was _going_ to work.

His voice softened, but the insistence in his tone didn't change.

"This is _my _fault, Doctor. I dragged Ianto into that room half-cocked because I thought I had something to prove. I didn't have a plan; I just… acted. Because I needed to show myself, and show him, that I wasn't just a coward. And because I was so hotheaded, I got him killed.

"And Steven… do I even have to explain that one? I was angry and upset and I couldn't _think_ clearly enough to come up with any better way to win than to kill a child. Kill my own grandson.

"Those are my mistakes, Doctor, and I have to fix them. I _will_ fix them, with or without your help, but I've got to say it would be a lot easier with you on my side. The Chula don't invent nanogenes for, what, another four centuries? I can wait that long, and I'm sure by that time I'll have found a way to get my Vortex manipulator working so I can travel back again with them, but I'd feel a lot better having you with me. Not just because it would save me a few miserable centuries of waiting, but because you're _brilliant_, Doctor." He reached out his undamaged hand to touch the Doctor's cheek, and when he didn't flinch away, Jack's lips twitched in a hint of a smile. "You'd know what to do if something goes wrong. You'd stop me if I start pushing things too far. I _can_ do this, and there's no one I'd rather have at my side while I'm making it happen."

And that was it – Jack's selling pitch. The ball was out of his court, and the Doctor was either going to agree or refuse. There was nothing more he could do but wait for the reaction. The silence between them, then, was endless, and Jack's temples began to throb again in earnest.

The Doctor, for his part, was caught up in a harsh internal battle between common sense and his own dangerous emotions… and he was having a hard time making out which was which. Was he allowing Jack to use his protective instincts for his former companions to make him consider something he shouldn't, or was his own bitterness, that self-defensive wall that had been recently fortifying itself around his hearts, keeping him from considering a plan that actually had some merit?

Just when the throbbing in Jack's head was becoming so great that he nearly had to drop his hand from the Time Lord's cheek and dig it into his own temple instead, the Doctor let out a quiet huff of breath and announced, "We'll _attempt_ it."

It was better than a bottle of aspirin. The throbbing disappeared as though it had never been and Jack, grinning, leaned forward to kiss the Doctor fast and full on the lips.

He'd known that he wouldn't be able to say no.

After all, he'd had him at Rose.

**TBC**

A/N: I know, not much happened in this one, and I'm sorry for the long dialogue. But I do think there were a lot of concerns that needed to be addressed before the Doctor would even consider messing with a set timeline. The Doctor may have taken on a slightly more bitter tone here than he had previously, possibly osmosed in from my exposure to the DW specials, where his attitude has recently taken on sort of a downward twist. (That's all I'll say for that. No spoilers for the DW fans, promise!)

**Notes:**

1: A brief flashback to the end of series 4, when the Doctor lost his most recent companion, Donna Noble. This happened following Jack's departure from the TARDIS so, much like with Rose, our Captain would have no idea she's not still present and traveling with him.


End file.
